


Hunger

by seatbeltdrivein



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M, deatheaterdrabs round 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-13
Updated: 2010-06-13
Packaged: 2017-10-10 02:35:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seatbeltdrivein/pseuds/seatbeltdrivein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenrir left Bill with more than scars. The true disfiguration lay beneath the surface, a permanent stain on an otherwise pure soul. Adaptable as ever, Bill adjusts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> Won runner-up in round 3: the evil Weasley challenge at deatheaterdrabs (LJ). This takes place around a year after the end of the second war.

Bill kept toothpicks in his robe pockets. Some days he'd pull out handfuls of them and wonder how they'd gotten there before his memory would kick in, squeamishness overtaking him.

The full moon was never one of those days.

"You're going out." Fleur frowned, crossing her arms. "Again."

Bill hummed, pushing his wand up his sleeve. "I'll be back."

"Where do you go?" she asked.

"Out." He couldn't say anymore than that, and she didn't honestly want to know. Some days, he didn't either.

The full moon hung over his head as he headed into town, the albatross around his neck. It didn't matter how many times he went, how satisfied he felt in the end. He always returned, the same gnawing hunger playing at the edge of his mind, an insatiable force.

The town was dark, the houses and stores all shuttered. At the end of the row of shops stood a dimly lit building, the entrance crowded by a group of men standing in a cloud of smoke. With one final skyward glance, Bill walked through them, the group separating a path for him without prompting.

He could stop. Bill sat at the bar with a drink he'd never touch and acknowledged the thought. He could get up, go home, and climb into bed with his wife.

A boy, one who couldn't have been more than a few years older than Ron, sat on the stool next to him, their knees brushing. Bill glanced up and the boy smiled.

He could stop, but it was too much to give up when _they_ came to _him_.

They stumbled out of the bar, the boy's hands running up Bill's chest, his eyes bright. Bill watched the moon as the young man pressed kisses against his skin, lips sliding against the sheen of sweat.

"Do you have a room?" Bill asked when the boy pulled away.

"Of course," the boy said, and Bill could see the shine in his eyes, smell the arousal pouring off the boy's body in waves, a heady perfume.

The boy lived in town in a one-room flat. He'd just left home to find himself. The walls were decorated with unmoving posters, and Bill closed his eyes against the weight of his task. The boy would not find what he was looking for, not in Bill and not in this life.

"Please," the boy said. He was on his back, legs curled around Bill's calves, pulling him closer.

Bill brushed the boy's thick hair from his eyes, smiling, and slipped his wand from his sleeve, pressing the tip against the boy's neck.

"_Petrificus Totalus._"

The boy's body went still beneath him, and Bill placed his wand carefully on the bed, sitting up on his knees over the boy's body. The spell served its purpose, rendering the boy paralyzed, but the awareness never left his eyes. Fear overtook the boy's lust, the scent of it perfect, appetizing.

"It didn't have to be you," Bill told the boy, holding his chin. "You chose me." He could feel the boy's breath against his hand, the only sign he was still alive.

Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to the boy's cheek, cupping the other side of his face, and opened his mouth. Bill dragged his teeth lightly against the skin, tasting the sweat, the fear, the tang of blood flowing beneath flesh.

Thanking whatever deity was listening for the meal he was about to receive, Bill dug his teeth in, the unnaturally sharp incisors breaking the skin. The boy's cheek ripped as easily as tissue paper, and Bill's mouth went straight through it, his tongue pressing against the boy's blunter teeth.

He sucked greedily, taking in every bit of stringy flesh and coppery fluid that he could, anything to satiate the hunger. The moon remained high in the sky, and Bill knew there was no need to hurry.

He had all night, after all.

When the sun rose the next morning, Bill sat in an empty bed, a red-stained bag resting at his feet. Digging a hand into his robe pocket, he pulled out a fistful of toothpicks. His mouth felt grimy, stringy strands caught in his molars.

Pushing one of the wooden picks between his front teeth, Bill let himself relax. The moon was gone, the hunger faded into nothingness along with it.

His task accomplished, Bill returned home, a month of humanity before him.﻿


End file.
